


To the Stars

by ladydurin_x



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: All the rights for Morwenna's spectacles, Canonical Character Death, Class Differences, Creative license has DEFINITELY been taken with timelines - the author begs forgiveness, Everybody loves Dwight, F/M, Here be angst, Mentions of Past Demelza/Hugh, Mentions of Past Ross/Elizabeth, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Sexism, Sam Carne Needs A Hug, So many tropes, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-04-12 12:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19131853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydurin_x/pseuds/ladydurin_x
Summary: The Titanic AU literally nobody asked for.





	1. Leaving Port

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say, my brain would've leave the idea alone. Hopefully someone enjoys it!  
> Huge thank you to Megan for the title! x

It was, perhaps, a little bit late for the thought to be occurring to her, but as she stared up at the imposing outline of Titanic, Demelza Carne was struck with the realisation that she wasn’t a fan of boats.

 _Ships_ , she corrected herself silently. Titanic wasn’t a _boat_ by any stretch of the imagination. 

Of course, her life in Illogan hadn’t given her much in the way of opportunities to get acquainted with boats or ships. Truth be told, Demelza hadn’t spent much time on the water at all. 

Occasionally, when the fancy took her, and Father was in a good mood, he would allow her to take the rather worn and creaky dinghy they kept at Portreath out so that she could catch some fish, but such days were few and far between, even when the weather allowed. 

Tom Carne much preferred to keep all his children in the house, where he could keep an eye on them. Especially Demelza. Especially after that one time Demelza’s wildfulness had almost resulted in her getting swept out to sea. Even now, she felt tears well in her eyes when she saw the scars on Luke’s back from the lashes he’d received for not keeping a better eye on his wayward sister. 

They’d barely been twelve and thirteen at the time. 

Demelza shook her head, glancing around the still growing crowds. Luke wasn’t joining them. He’d barely been married two weeks when Father had made the suggestion, and his wife had made her desire to stay in Cornwall to start their family quite clear. Demelza wasn’t entirely sure she could blame her. Southampton seemed impossibly loud and huge to Demelza. She couldn’t begin to imagine what awaited them in America. 

She turned her attention from the crowds to crane her neck to look at Titanic once more before they boarded. Despite her nerves, despite the homesickness that had begun to coil in her belly the second they had left the rundown cottage that had been the only home Demelza had ever known,  she realised she was excited. Father had spent almost all his savings to buy their tickets. If nothing else, Demelza told herself, at least it meant that he was sincere in his desire to start fresh. 

She sighed softly. It wasn’t that she had anything against Methodism in theory, or religion generally for that matter, but she couldn’t take to it the way Father had. Certainly not the way Sam had. She didn’t _want_ to spend her days worrying about sins, and her soul. Life was beautiful, and for living, and she wanted to enjoy every last moment of it, free of guilt. 

“‘Tis a big boat, ain’t it, Sister?"

She turned to look at Drake, taking in his wide eyed excitement fondly. He’d just turned seventeen, but he would always be the squawking baby she had all but raised. 

“Ship,” Sam corrected softly, though as Demelza turned to look at him, she was pleased to note that even he was smiling, even if he was doing his best to hide it. 

It was good to see Sam smile again. Demelza could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen him smile since he’d been _saved._ She missed it; Sam had a face made for smiling. It made his already handsome face even more so, softening some of the harder lines. 

At the sound of their father’s gruff voice, Demelza took Drake’s hand, glad he still didn’t consider himself above such displays of sisterly affection. They shared a quick grin, eager to get a head start on the new life their face had promised awaited.

**xXx**

Ross Poldark stood in his cabin, one hand running through his hair as he wondered if it was too late to tell Verity he’d changed his mind.

The invitation had been a kind thought - not that his cousin seemed to have any other kind; Verity Blamey was, after all, selflessness personified. A kind thought, if perhaps a little barbed. She had made her thoughts on the amount of time he spent alone at Nampara very clear. 

Her husband had been of a like mind. A few weeks in good company with sea air would do him the world of good, Andrew had said. Ross had refrained from reminding him that sea air was hardly in short supply in Cornwall. 

Andrew Blamey was a navy man, had been for most of his life, and had a keen interest in all manner of ships. The opportunity to be on Titanic’s maiden voyage had been too tempting to pass up. According to Verity, the voyage was to be their last trip before they settled permanently in Portugal. 

It had been that knowledge, along with Henshawe’s suggestion that Ross look up a friend of a friend who might have a good business opportunity for him once he reached America, that had finally convinced Ross to take up Verity’s offer. 

It was no secret that Ross had spent the best part of a decade looking for a legitimate reason to escape Cornwall. One that wouldn’t make it abundantly clear that he was running away. 

He knew, deep down, that it was more than a little absurd that he was still so hung up over the loss of Elizabeth. He didn’t need to see the pity in Zacky or Dwight’s eyes to know that. He was painfully aware of how pathetic he must seem to them. Perhaps he would’ve been able to move on years ago, if only she’d married anyone but his cousin. 

Francis was a good man. Growing up the pair of them had been more like brothers than cousins. ‘The dark Poldark and the fair’, causing more than their fair share of trouble as they grew older. Even now Ross looked back on the mischief of their shared childhood with no small amount of fondness. Perhaps they’d have stayed that way forever had it not been for Elizabeth. 

Elizabeth had changed his life from the second she entered it. Before Elizabeth, he’d accepted with a grudging sort of certainty that he’d most likely end up like his father. Another black sheep tainting the family’s good name. Then Elizabeth had happened. It had only taken a few short weeks for him to _know._

They hadn’t been courting for long when his father had died. What the old man had been doing in Italy of all places when he died, Ross still didn’t know for sure. All he knew was that by the time he had returned home, all necessary matters seen to, Elizabeth and Francis were engaged. 

_“You’ll forget me.”_

He could still remember the expression on Elizabeth’s lovely face as she’d said it. Bright smile doing nothing to hide the genuine sadness in her eyes. The irony was that it seemed she had forgotten _him_. 

He still wondered if it hadn’t been her mother’s influence. The miserable, bull-headed woman had never liked him, after all, she’d made no secret of it. Francis _was_ a much better prospect; no one looked at him with something akin to horror when they realised who _his_ father was. Francis was from the respectable branch of the Poldark family tree. 

Perhaps if he’d been more attentive. If he’d bothered to write to her more often when he was away... 

What did it matter now? It had been almost ten years. They’d even had a son. In spite of himself, Ross had found himself growing increasingly fond of Geoffrey Charles as the boy had grown. He was a good boy, even if Ross agreed with Verity’s troubled observation that he had inherited some of his father’s worst traits, and Elizabeth had certainly been too soft handed with him. Even so, Ross had no doubt he would be a worthy successor of Trenwith. 

His fondness for his nephew hadn’t made watching Francis and Elizabeth boarding just ahead of him any easier. 

So much for an escape.

**xXx**

_“_ Uncle Ray-”

“You definitely packed the fur lined coat I brought you for your birthday?”

“Uncle Ray-”

“Remember your great aunt in New York said-”

“ _Uncle Ray!”_ Caroline Penvenen rolled her eyes good naturedly as her uncle finally stopped his anxious babbling. “I _promise_ , I will be absolutely fine!” She pressed a quick peck to his whiskery cheek, nose wrinkling as the coarse hair scratched her lip. 

“But _Caroline_ -”

“Horace won’t let anything happen to me. Will you Horace?”

The fat pug grunted from where he was perched contentedly in her arms, pink tongue lolling from his mouth as Caroline smiled at him. “See? We’ll be just fine.”

Her uncle muttered something she didn’t quite catch, though she was almost positive she caught a few less than complimentary comments about Horace in between the more generalised fussing. 

“Now.” Caroline adjusted her grip on her canine companion, stepping forward to make sure she had her uncle’s undivided attention, all humour forgotten for the moment. “Are _you_ going to be alright, Uncle Ray?”

She saw the idea forming in his head before he could speak. She wasn’t going to fall for it.

“I’ve left very strict instructions for the household staff while I’m away. I’ve made Betty promise to keep you away from the bonbons - even the secret stash I know you have hidden in your study.”

He at least had the good grace to look chastised. 

“The doctor was _very_ clear. Promise me.”

He huffed noncommittally. 

“Uncle Ray!”

“I promise I won’t sneak any bonbons while you’re away, Caroline.”

Caroline smiled, triumphant. “Horace and I really must get going if we don’t want Titanic to leave without us, mustn't we, Horace?”

The little pug snorted in response. 

“But why must you go at all?”

She sighed, forcing herself to keep the smile on her face. They’d had this conversation more times than Caroline could count since she’d announced her intentions one morning as her uncle read the morning paper. “I told you, Uncle; I had a fancy to get away for a while. Somewhere new. Somewhere other than London.”  
“Why not come back to Cornwall with me? You’ve been with your aunt so much it’s been a while since you spent any time at Killewarren!”

_Because it would be impossible to keep a trip to Cornwall from Unwin._

Unwin Trevaunance wasn’t a bad man. Caroline had heard enough horror stories from her society friends that she knew things could be so much worse. He wasn’t even a particularly unattractive man. He was just terribly dull. 

Caroline had long given up on the idea of finding someone who could keep up with, much less match her wit, but _Unwin_. 

Sometimes, Caroline tried to provoke him intentionally. At least he might show some sort of spark in an argument. But he never took the bait. The only time she saw him show any real passion was when he was talking of politics - a topic he refused to share with her, deeming it unladylike. 

And that wasn’t the worst of it! They weren’t even formally engaged, not yet at least, but already, he paraded her around like she was some sort of trophy. Like she was his property. As if she hadn’t considered him purely to please Uncle Ray. The Trevaunance name was a good one, more than suitable for a Penvenen heiress, and his political aspirations made him an especially attractive candidate to her uncles. Really, aside from Caroline’s personal preference, and no one cared to hear about _that,_ there was nothing to be said against the match. 

Except for the fact that the mere idea of being tied to Unwin for a lifetime made Caroline want to scream. 

She looked to the ship as the last warning to board was called out. “I’ll see you soon, Uncle Ray. I promise.”

Finally accepting it was far too late to stop her, Uncle Ray nodded, huffing with embarrassment as Caroline pulled him in for one last hug - he’d never been one for public displays of affection - before she pushed through the crowds to make her way aboard. 

**xXx**

Morwenna matched his easy smile with one of her own, spirits too high to put up much of a fight. She moved to turn her attention back to watching the waves, startled as she came perilously close to bumping into a young man. 

“Sorry Ma’am, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Please forgive me.”

She took a step backwards to put some distance between herself and this stranger, giving him a cursory appraisal from above her spectacles. “That’s quite alright, Sir.”

“Geoffrey Charles Poldark, how do you do?”

Morwenna blinked, she hadn’t noticed Geoffrey Charles appear at her elbow. She did her best to subtly position herself between the two; Drake Carne didn’t belong in first class, that much was clear. His clothes, whilst neatly arranged were threadbare, covered in old stains and tears and the odd mismatched patch where someone had done their best to repair the damage. If his clothes weren’t enough, there was also the matter of his accent. No member of the gentry would have such a broad, distinctive accent. 

Elizabeth was fairly easy going, but even she would have something to say on the matter if she knew Morwenna was letting Geoffrey Charles fraternise with strange young men who had broken onto the First Class deck. 

Unfortunately for Morwenna, her charge was nothing if not determined, easily pushing past her with his hand outstretched. 

The young man grinned brightly as he shook it. “Drake Carne.”

“I do believe we should be going. Your mama will be wondering where we are.” She tugged at her charge’s arm to no avail; he remained rooted to the spot, staring at Drake Carne as if he were some sort of shiny new toy.

“A moment, Ma’am, if you please? Brother Sam and I, we d’mean no ‘arm, but,” he ducked his head sheepishly. “We’re not rightly s’posed to be in first class. Only, we don’t know our way back. Could ‘ee help us?”

It wouldn’t do for Morwenna and Geoffrey Charles to get embroiled in any sort of trouble, she knew, and there was sure to be a lot of it should they get caught. “I’m not sure-”

“Of course we can! Can’t we, Morwenna!” Geoffrey Charles chirped at the exact same moment. 

Trust Geoffrey Charles to get them caught up in matters that were none of their business. 

_“Morwenna?”_

Surprised, she turned her attention from Geoffrey Charles back to the young man. Drake. 

“‘Tis a lilting, musical name.”

Morwenna could feel a blush spreading across her cheeks, and angled her face away from him to look at Geoffrey Charles who was watching her expectantly. “Your mama-”

“ _Mon Dieu_ , Morwenna!” She cringed. They really had to work on _that_. “Mama won’t be worrying for another hour at least! Come, Drake.”

Drake shot Geoffrey Charles a lopsided grin, before waving to another poorly dressed young man Morwenna assumed must be the Sam he had mentioned. There _was_ something of a family resemblance, if only in the dark curls of their hair. 

“This be my brother, Sam.”

The other young man nodded politely, looking as uncomfortable as Morwenna herself felt. 

With that, Geoffrey Charles took off, leading them towards one of the gates that led from first class to the rest of the ship. He was already disconcertingly familiar with his surroundings. 

“Straight down there. We’ll look out for the guards, won’t we, Morwenna?” He added conspiratorially. 

With a reluctant sigh, she nodded. At least she’d never have to think of the young men again once they were through the gate.

“It was a pleasure to meet ‘ee.”

Morwenna blinked at him. “And you, Sir.”

She pretended she hadn’t noticed Sam watching them from the other side of the gate, his face a picture of barely concealed agitation. 

“I hope we may meet again.”

With that, he was gone. The impertinence of his farewell leaving Morwenna rattled. In a man of her own class, it would’ve been polite, she supposed. It was a pity. It was a pity that he was, quite possibly, the most beautiful young man Morwenna had ever seen. 

Morwenna shook her head as Geoffrey Charles all but skipped away, already seeking his next adventure. She watched him for a moment before leaning over the railing that separated first and second class, watching the retreating backs of the Carne brothers.

As she watched, they finally made it through the gate that led them back to third class. She let out a soft sigh.

Almost as if he’d heard her, as if he’d sensed her watching him, Drake Carne turned, meeting her eyes for a moment, before giving her a quick wave.

Morwenna shot backwards, heart thundering.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda hate it, but it's a start.  
> Dwight will appear in the next chapter, I promise!


	2. Of Fortuitous Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW - mentions of past abuse and excessive drinking.

_There were only so many places a person could hide on a_ ship _._

At least, that’s what Demelza kept telling herself. For the first half hour or so  it had been something of a comfort. Now, when she’d spent the best part of two hours searching for her brothers, she was beginning to feel the anxiety set it.

For the first hour, she’d been, more or less, unconcerned. Drake was, of course, quite likely to get himself in some sort of trouble, however innocently intended, but Sam was with him. And Sam Carne was level headed enough for all six of his siblings combined now he’d been saved.

When one hour had become two, however, and she’d just finished scouring the entirety of Third Class for a _third_ time, Demelza was beginning to worry. 

She stopped for a moment, resting against the rail as she allowed the cool spray of salt water to calm her nerves.

“Miss?”

 _“Judas God!”_ She jumped back from the railing, turning to look at the owner of the deep voice that had spooked her, surprised to spot a well dressed man a decade or so older than Demelza herself watching her with an apologetic smile.

 _He_ certainly didn’t belong in third class with the likes of her. 

“Not quite.” His apologetic smile turned affable, his eyes crinkling as she matched his expression. He was rather handsome. 

“Can I help ‘ee, Sir?” She asked hesitantly, unsure how to talk to someone like _him_. People like that didn’t talk to people like Demelza. 

“What part of Cornwall are you from?”

  
She blinked. “Illogan, Sir.”

He stretched out a hand. “Ross Poldark.”

Demelza shook the offered hand gingerly. No one had ever wanted to shake her hand before. The experience was quite alien. 

 _Poldark._ Everyone back home knew the Poldarks. They were a very well respected family going back generations. As much a staple of North Cornwall as the jagged cliffs. 

What on Earth was a Poldark doing talking to her? In third class of all places.

“Demelza Carne.”

He smiled again. It seemed to Demelza that he didn’t smile all that often; there was something in the way the muscles around his mouth twitched, almost fighting the expression. It was a shame, she decided. It softened his features, made his already handsome face even more so. 

“You look lost.”

 _Not so lost as you._ She could work for a hundred years and never be able to afford anything half so nice as the tailored suit he was wearing. 

“I be searching for my brother, Sir. They went explorin’ ‘bout two hours ‘go. I ain’t seen hide nor hair of ‘em since.”

“Would you like some help? They can’t have gotten that far on a ship.”

Demelza grinned at him as they fell into step together. “That’s what I said. An hour ago.”

He was so easy to talk to it was easy to forget he was a _Poldark_. He had asked about her family, her brothers, her hopes, her aspirations. He had even listened to her as she prattled on about Garrick, the family mutt, and how much she missed him. It was, somehow, both flattering and frightening all at once.

It had also been very easy to pretend she hadn’t noticed the way people were looking at them. Because of course they were. Demelza with her clean, but threadbare dress, barely clinging to its colour after so many years of wear and tear, and _Ross_. Ross Poldark who so clearly didn’t belong in third class with his neat suit, and well groomed, if unfashionably long, hair. A terrible sense of pride washed over her.

He found _her_ interesting enough to talk to. She tried to swallow it down. Father and Sam would say that pride was a wicked sin, and she was a wicked, sinful girl for feeling it so keenly. 

The pair had made it maybe a third of the way around the deck when she finally spotted Drake, who offered her a shamefaced little smile as they made eye contact. 

“That be my brothers there, Sir.”

Ross nodded at them as they approached.

All too aware of her companion’s eyes on her, Demelza fought the urge to yell at her wayward brothers. She didn’t much like to yell at the best of times; it reminded them all of the dark days of their youth, cowering in corners when Father had been at the drink. She’d hate to do it even more in front of a gentleman such as Ross. 

“These be my brothers; Sam, and Drake.” She motioned to each of them in turn. 

“How do you do, Sir?”

Demelza ignored Sam’s sharp eyes on her as she turned back to Ross. That was a conversation that could _definitely_ wait. Indefinitely, if Demelza had her way. “We’d best be going, Mr Ross. Father’ll be wonderin’ where we’ve got to.” 

Even as Ross nodded, Demelza noticed the sadness in his eyes. Almost as if he was as sad to see her go as she was to be leaving him - his company, at least. 

She pretended not to notice the look Sam and Drake exchanged as they watched them. Demelza was good at pretending.

**xXx**

 

In many ways, Dwight Enys was a simple man. He asked for little from the world, and was, generally, more than content with what he received. 

After all, he had little to complain about; he was from a good family, comfortable if not wealthy, he had a good profession, and made enough to live and keep himself in relative comfort. Moreover, his chosen profession gave him ample opportunity to travel. Not only around the country, but between the _classes_. The differences he found were a near endless source of both fascination and dismay. 

It had been that fascination in particular that had led to his decision to join Titanic’s maiden voyage. An old school friend, newly settled in America, had sent word of an opportunity for further study, one that could eventually lead to a job or even a practice of Dwight’s own. Even his mother, so often wary of Dwight’s interest in the lower classes, and all too eager to keep him as close as possible, had admitted it was too good an opportunity to pass on.

So, he had gathered his meagre earnings (and not a penny from his mother; despite her best efforts), and managed to afford a second class ticket aboard one of the most anticipated voyages in recent memory. 

One day, he supposed, he might look back and revel in being even a small part in what would surely be a significant moment in maritime history. For the time being, he was more than content to enjoy all second class had to offer. 

“Dwight Enys!”

He turned at the sound of the familiar voice. “Ross!”

The pair clasped hands, both smiling. “I didn’t know you were aboard! You weren’t at supper.”

“Ah, no.” Dwight shook his head, pushing a few wayward strands of hair from his forehead. “I’m actually not travelling first class,” he admitted. “My means don’t stretch that far.”

Ross frowned. “You should’ve said. I-”

“Ross. I know you mean well, but I also know you of all people understand my aversion to what I would see as charity.”

His friend nodded. Ross had struggled to accept help from his friends even when his own financial situation had been quite dire. 

The pair stood in companionable silence for a while, watching the waves crashing against the side of the ship. 

“Would you join us? That is, myself, Verity, and her husband, Andrew. You’ve met Andrew?”

“Blamey? Once, about a year ago in Truro. Before we went to Paris, if you’ll recall.”

“That’s right. Will you join us? It can easily be arranged.”

Dwight shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid I’m promised elsewhere, tonight, Ross.”

Ross only smiled. He didn’t smile so easily these days, it was enough to make Dwight wonder what had his friend in such high spirits. Perhaps it was simply the prospect of a fresh start. Ten years of living the way Ross had...Dwight shuddered. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone. 

Fond as he was of Elizabeth and Francis Poldark, Dwight’s loyalties were firmly with Ross. How could they not be after Ross had been good enough to stand by him through the whole sorry mess with Keren. 

He sighed. It had been a long while since he’d thought of Keren. He had no plans to start again now. Instead, he turned to Ross, half tempted to ask what had put him in such a bright mood. Then again, knowing his friend, the question alone would be enough to dampen his spirits as completely as blowing out a candle.

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, then.” Dwight was surprised to realise he was genuinely looking forward to it.

 

**xXx**

 

Usually, Caroline loved evening meals. Especially when taken in good company, with the near ridiculous amounts of pageantry and pomp Titanic’s staff were providing. She’d never seen such extravagance; Uncle Ray hadn’t been this zealous for her eighteenth birthday party at Killewarren, and _that_ affair had been the talk of society for months afterwards. 

Tonight, however, she was barely able to smile at Ross Poldark, as he chatted amiably, if, perhaps a little reluctantly, to her. Conversation was clearly not his strong suit, but at any other time, Caroline would have been _delighted_ to have been sat next to him. 

He was handsome, engaging, even if it did seem to be a little in spite of himself, and the gossip that surrounded his doomed love for his cousin’s pretty wife was more than enough to make him someone highly noteworthy as far as Caroline was concerned (of course, Uncle Ray often lamented her interest in gossip. She considered it a perfectly respectable pastime). 

Unfortunately, the pain in her throat had been growing steadily more unbearable all day. As she sat pushing her food around her plate, it was all she could do to nod politely or shake her head at the appropriate intervals. Being a naturally talented conversationalist, and being unable to drop a witty comment here, or a sharp observation there was tantamount to torture. 

Second only to the pain in her throat as she gently rubbed at her neck, trying to ease some of the ache without drawing any attention to her plight.

“Are you quite well, Miss Penvenen?”

She forced herself to smile. “Caroline, please. We’re all friends here, are we not?”

Ross nodded good-naturedly, though his answering smile didn’t quite meet his hazel eyes.

Caroline sighed. This wasn’t the sort of attention she enjoyed. “It’s my throat, actually. It’s been causing me some pain all day.”

His polite smile fell slightly. “I think you should see a doctor. I know of a good one on board-”

  
“Not Choake. The man’s a lecherous brute, not to mention extortionately expensive.”

Ross barked out a laugh he quickly disguised as a cough when the woman next to him turned in his direction, disapproval written all over her face. “No. Not Choake. Enys. He’s an old friend. Shall I have him called?”

  
Caroline hesitated. She wasn’t opposed to attention, not at all. She was an attractive young woman who enjoyed harmless flirtation. Medical examinations, however...The mere idea made her feel nauseous, but the pain in her throat was becoming rather unbearable. 

  
“If you think he can help.”

Ross shrugged. “It can’t hurt to try.”

  
With great reluctance, feeling not unlike she imagined a caged animal must feel, Caroline nodded. “You know where my rooms are?”

He shook his head, before asking a passing waiter for a piece of paper. Caroline took it, jotting down her cabin number quickly. 

“If you’ll excuse me.”  
  


When Caroline arrived back at her cabin, she was already a flurry of nerves. The entire journey back she’d been debating the wisdom of changing out of her evening gown. It was a beautiful, heavily embellished blue piece she had favoured ever since Uncle Ray, who noticed precious little when it came to fashion, had complimented her on how it brought out the blue of her eyes.   
Tonight, however, the mere weight of it was making her increasingly irritable in her already anxious state. 

  
It would not, she knew, be ladylike to welcome a strange man into her cabin whilst she was in a state of undress. Still, she reasoned, this Enys was a doctor. It barely counted, and surely wouldn’t be anything he hadn’t seen before. 

  
“Ruth,” she croaked, hoping her maid would hear.

  
She did, of course, popping her head round the door with a bright smile on her face. “Yes, Miss?”

  
“Would you help me out of this tiresome dress?”

A few minutes later, Caroline was perched on the cabin’s chaise longue, one hand on her throat, the other absently holding the book she was ostensibly reading as she waited for the doctor’s arrival. 

“Miss? There’s a Doctor Enys here to see you.”

  
Caroline nodded her approval, shifting into a sitting position, moving to reposition her silver dressing gown, ensuring she was decent as a handsome young man came through the door. Not quite what she’d expected.

  
“Thank you, Ruth.”

  
She watched with practised indifference as he pulled a stool to sit in front of her. “Dr Enys, I presume?” She croaked with some difficulty. 

He nodded, smiling. “Miss Penvenen? Mr Poldark told me it was a complaint of the throat?”

  
Caroline nodded, opening her mouth to speak. 

  
“Ah. If it’s uncomfortable to speak, I’m sure a nod or shake of the head will be sufficient, Ma’am. Or I’m certain your maid will be able to inform me of the particulars.”

  
Caroline tried not to bristle; he was speaking to her as though she were a child. “Ruth?”

  
The other woman smiled, moving forward. 

  
The young man leaned forward, checking her pulse with surprisingly gentle fingers. Perhaps she had grown too accustomed to Choake’s bedside manner. 

  
“Would you open your mouth, please?”

  
Caroline acquiesced easily, shockingly at ease trusting this handsome young doctor. There was something about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it made her want to trust him absolutely. 

  
“Would you get me a spoon please?” He asked the maid. “A tablespoon.”

  
She watched as he moved to search his medical bag for a moment, before taking the freshly retrieved spoon from Ruth. 

  
Caroline listened as he muttered to himself, something about no fever, inflammation and cool hands. 

  
“Would you be kind enough to fetch me some salt and warm water, please?” He turned back to Caroline, eyes gentle. “I believe I can help you, Miss Penvenen. If you can sit up straight and remain absolutely still. Can you do that for me?”

  
“Are you going to lance my throat?” She asked weakly, voice barely more than a murmur. 

  
“No, I’m not.”

  
She watched with interest as he selected a pair of tweezers from his gathered supplies, shifting herself into a position she could hold more comfortably as he offered her a reassuring smile. Once she was settled, Caroline nodded, focusing on the warmth of his gentle hands on her jaw as he set about his work.

  
From the corner of her eye, Caroline noticed Ruth return, carrying the water Dr Enys had requested, eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. As she was watching Ruth watching her, she felt the doctor remove the tweezers from her mouth. 

  
“All done. Please rinse your mouth with the salt water.”

  
Caroline did as she was told, noticing the flushed triumph he was trying valiantly to hide. It was quite becoming on him, even combined with the sheen of sweat that was currently sticking his hair to his forehead. 

  
“Is that better?”

  
She nodded, impressed. “Thank you.” Caroline touched her throat gently in amazement. “But...what did you do?”

  
“When did you last eat fish, Miss Penvenen?”

  
She wrinkled her nose as she considered his question. “About three days ago. Why?”

  
He lifted the tweezers with a satisfied expression. “You must be more careful in the future. It could have been serious.”

  
Caroline leaned forward, a little gasp escaping her as she got a better look at the object gripped by the tweezers. A fish bone. All that for a tiny fish bone! 

  
“What is your fee?” The words came out slightly breathlessly, laced with gratitude. 

  
Doctor Enys shook his head. “I am amply recompensed by the knowledge of your gratitude.”

  
There was something vaguely combative in his reply that piqued her interest. A doctor who refused payment? A true novelty. “Of course, to you, the saving of my life is a small service indeed. I’m sure you’ll understand that, to me, the matter assumes a slightly greater importance.”

  
Ruth snickered gently from where she was tidying. 

  
“A guinea. It is the smallest value I can put up your services, little as I esteem myself.”

  
The doctor’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “A guinea then, Miss Penvenen”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it would make more sense for Caroline/Dwight's first meeting to be the fish bone incident than the Horace one, simply because Horace would most likely have been down in the kennels for much of the voyage (much to Caroline's disgust).  
> Thank you for all the kind words on the opening chapter!


	3. Pride & Prejudice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for all the Romelza stans.

It had been a strange day, Morwenna mused as she took her seat for dinner, smoothing the creases from her dress as she listened to the chatter around her.

Elizabeth and Francis had given Geoffrey Charles permission to go for a wander about the ship, which, of course, meant that Morwenna too had to resign herself to a couple of hours of being dragged around. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the boy’s company, in fact, she was actually rather fond of him, it was more that she had hoped for a quiet day. A couple of hours reading in her room, a prayer or two in the little chapel, and enjoyable conversations at dinner.

She’d been feeling rather homesick since the night before and didn’t want to have to fake a bright smile around Geoffrey Charles and his giddy excitement all day.

Still, she wasn’t going to argue with her cousin, and so the pair, hyperactive charge and reserved governess, set off on a walk Morwenna knew would be directionless. It was impossible to get Geoffrey Charles to decide where exactly he wanted to go. He was still too excited by the whole thing.

As she listened to Geoffrey Charles babble away, explaining something or other about ships that he’d recently been taught by his uncle Andrew, Morwenna’s thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the young man they’d met during their first walk about the promenade.

His impertinence during their brief interaction still unsettled her. What unsettled her more was that she couldn’t stop thinking of his handsome face, and easy smile. It wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all.

She sat on one of the provided benches, long since having given up on getting Geoffrey Charles to come inside where it was warmer, or to go to the onboard swimming pool. He was too busy enjoying the novelty of being at sea with nothing to stare at but the waves.

“S’cuse me young master-Oh it is you!”

Morwenna’s attention was brought back to Geoffrey Charles by the sound of a troublingly familiar Cornish accent. It was as though her wayward thoughts had summoned him.

“‘Ee were kind ‘nough to help us get back to third class.” He turned at the sound of Morwenna’s approach. “Miss Morwenna.”

She bristled at the familiarity. “Mr Carne. Geoffrey Charles, your mama will be wondering where we are.”

“Five more minutes, ‘Wenna.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“ _Please_.” He turned his attention back to Drake who was staring rather too openly at Morwenna.

She pointedly looked to the floor. Torn between returning to her seat on the bench, and stopping Geoffrey Charles from getting himself into trouble by way of his interaction with this rather entirely too forward young man.

“Have ‘ee seen the dolphins?” Drake asked suddenly, finally turning to give his full attention to Geoffrey Charles.

The youngster shook his head. “No, where?”

He pointed to the front of the ship. “They like to ride the waves at the bow. Would you like for I to show ‘ee?”

“Oh, no, thank you!” Morwenna said, rather too quickly. “I don’t think your mother would like us to wander so far.” Or with such a fellow, she added silently.                                                                                                   
“I’ll not see ‘ee come to harm, Miss,” Drake promised quietly. “T'will take no time t’all, if Master Geoffrey would like it.”

Morwenna pushed her glasses up from where they had fallen down her nose as she looked at him. What a pity that he was so handsome. “Very well, Mr Carne. It is a very kind thought.”

She followed behind the two of them, watching carefully for any sign of a guard who might cause a fuss at finding Drake outside of third class. It was a terrible shame really. So long as he wasn’t bothering anyone, where was the harm? No one would think twice if they found her or Geoffrey Charles in third class.

A smile slipped onto her face as she watched Geoffrey Charles bounce along, chatting animatedly. It was good to see him coming back into his own. The tension in his parents marriage had recently become apparent enough for even a boy of his age, when youth made one naturally selfish, to notice. It had been enough to make him quiet and withdrawn.

She hoped this trip would be the solution Elizabeth had been searching for in her marital troubles.

“Oh _look_ , Morwenna!”

Morwenna moved closer to the guardrail, not daring to lean too far forward for fear of falling. She smiled uncomfortably as she noticed Drake watching her. Again.

He offered out his hand after a moment. She shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Give me leave to help ‘ee, Miss Morwenna.”

“No, thank you.” She moved back from the railing, hoping to remove the point of contention entirely.

“You won’t see otherwise.”

She considered it for a moment. Torn between her desire to see the dolphins, and to keep Drake forwardness in hand.

“Please…”

With reluctance, she allowed him to support her arm, just below her elbow, and take her hand and help her step onto the railing.

It was like a shock went through her. From his sharp intake of breath, it seemed Morwenna wasn’t the only one affected.

 

**xXx**

 

Dwight dressed reluctantly for dinner with the Poldarks. It wasn’t that he disliked any of them, indeed he would count the vast majority of them amongst his closest friends in Cornwall.

It was only that the ceremony and pageantry that came with the meal that he had little time for. And such extravagance, and waste. What of the poor who struggled to get from one day to the next? What they wouldn’t give for the scraps those such as Caroline Penvenen gave to her dog.

He blinked as he appraised himself in the mirror. Where had _that_ come from? He hadn’t given any thought to Miss Penvenen since he’d reluctantly accepted her guinea.

A strange young woman, who certainly thought very highly of herself and little of anyone else. The sort Dwight went out of his way to avoid. And yet, here she was invading his thoughts.

He tugged his jacket straight, giving himself a final once over in the mirror, and bracing himself for a night of fake smiles. He was certain his cheeks would be aching from holding the expression in around an hour.

As soon as he arrived, Ross spotted him, a bright smile breaking out over his face as he beckoned him over. “Dwight!”

It was only when Dwight had almost crossed the distance between them that he noticed the blonde woman standing by his friend’s side. A sardonic smile on her pretty face as she noted Dwight's approach.

“ _Dwight_. Such a quaint name. Rather makes one think of someone shy and unprogressive.” She laughed.

He smiled uncertainly, not entirely sure if he was being made the butt of a joke. “I’m glad to see you much recovered since we last met, Miss Penvenen.”

Dwight turned to Ross who was watching the exchange with poorly disguised interest. He raised an eyebrow as he gave Dwight his full attention.

Dwight shook his head, unsure what exactly Ross was asking.

“Shall we go inside?”

As they walked through the doors, Dwight got his first real taste of first class aboard the ship. The host had chosen the first class saloon rather than the restaurant or cafe. Dwight wondered uncharitably if was a matter of the extra cost. He look around. It was, as he’d suspected, simply a rather more luxurious version of the second class equivalent. The only difference he really noticed were the well cushioned green chairs and the fine silver. Not that he’d say it to any of the gathered company, save Ross, perhaps.

 

It was, as Dwight had expected, a grand affair. He could barely see to the other end of the table where their host, Hugh Bodrugan was sitting in his finery. He recognised a few of the gathered faces, bowing his head in acknowledgement as he walked past. Some were old friends, some were patients, and some he knew only through the gossip his patients so dearly loved to pass on during consultations.

Dwight ate his meal largely in silence. Caroline, who was sat to his right spent most of her time conversing with George Warleggan, an old friend of Francis, though rumour had it the relationship had recently soured, and a long time enemy of Ross.

On Dwight’s other side was Elizabeth’s quiet cousin, a pretty girl by the name of Garlanda or Morwenna, something unfashionably flowery for her class. Perhaps she had mentioned a sister named Garlanda? It was too late to ask now. Even so, he was rather enjoying her company. She said little more than was absolutely necessary, seeming lost in thought, It suited him rather well.

“They will only multiply and then there’ll be even _more_ mouths to feed!”

Dwight did his best to ignore the conversation. Some of the gathered party had already looked at him disdainfully when they’d realised he wasn’t sailing first class. He didn’t want to give them any further reason to gossip about him. Still, surely she couldn't _mean_ what she was saying.

“You don’t think those of us who can ought to do more to help?”

He heard George Warleggan scoff at Ross’s suggestion.

Caroline straightened in her chair next to him. “Of course it’s sad to see them die, but perhaps it’s simply nature’s way of keeping their numbers in check.”

She noticed Dwight’s expression. Evidently he’d done a poor job of disguising his disgust.

“Oh. Do I shock you, Dr Enys?”

He shook his head, rattled as he felt his face flush. “Only with you assumption that you will not be included in the stocktaking, Ma’am.”

She grinned. “I’m a _Penvenen_ , Dr Enys. Rich and privileged. Of course I won’t.”

Disgust twisted in his gut. Disgust made worse by the fact that even after hearing her words, he still found himself drawn to her. He stood. “If you’ll excuse me. I just remembered I have a prior engagement, I’m sorry.” He moved from the table, bowing quickly. “And Miss Penvenen?”

“Yes?”

“I shall take the liberty of returning your guinea.”

“Are you so very tainted by it, Dr Enys?”

He left without another word, ashamed to have allowed himself to be so easily riled. Especially now he realised that had been the young woman’s intent. She had been testing him. For what purpose, he couldn’t say, but from the expression he’d caught on her face as he was leaving, he feared he had given her exactly what she had desired.

He longed for the voyage to be over so he could fully put all thought of Caroline Penvenen behind him. Out of sight and out of mind, was that not how the saying went?

**xXx**

 

Emma Tregirls giggled with glee as her skirts twirled around her as she spun, keeping pace with the music. She’d been pleasantly surprised when the band had recognised the name of her favourite song, and delighted to find the rest of the gathered crowd dancing along with her.

Often times, back home, she had found herself dancing alone. Not that she _really_ minded, she was hardly a shrinking violet. Still, it was always nicer to have some company, especially when it came to dancing. At least, company was preferable when that company was anyone but Tom Harry. She still couldn’t believe Betty Carkeek had managed to help her find enough funds to run away like this. She would be forever in her debt.

The music built to a crescendo as the memory of the last time she had danced flashed before her eyes. Tom Harry’s massive, permanently grubby and horrible calloused hands grabbing at her.

She shuddered, falling out of step. She jumped from the table, scanning the crowds, looking for a distraction from her suddenly darkened thoughts.

One stood out like a sore thumb.

A young man, a few years older than Emma herself was hunched over a table, a book clenched firmly in his hands as he poured over it. Not any book, Emma realised. The _Bible_ . Who brought the Bible of all things to a _party_?

She moved closer intrigued.

His green eyes lifted to meet hers as she slid into the seat next to his. “Do ‘ee not dance?”

He tucked his finger into the book as a makeshift page holder, ducking his head as he spoke. “The Lord do consider it sinful.”

He spoke as though he had swallowed the scripture. Emma rolled her eyes, too high spirited to be put off. “Well the Lord do sound  a proper spoil sport!” she giggled, extending her hand. “Emma. Tregirls.”

He shook it gently. His hands were much softer than Tom Harry’s. “Sam Carne.”

The music began to pick up again. “Oh, I _love_ this song! You really won’t dance, Sam Carne? Not even with me?”

Sam shook his head, ostensibly turning his attention back to his Bible.

Emma clicked her tongue as she stood. “‘Tis a proper shame.”

As she joined the circle, she laughed.

Sam Carne’s eyes didn’t leave her for the rest of the night.

 

**xXx**

 

All things considered, Demelza had had a very good evening. Their father, distracted by his new wife and the baby, had allowed her and her brothers to go to the party without his judgemental eyes on them all night, ensuring they didn't fall into sin. 

Of course, Sam had acted almost as a substitute, albeit a much less strict or frightening one. His disapproval came from silent stares rather than raised voice. In some ways, his unspoken disappointment was worse, and it made her miss the old Sam more than ever. _He_ would have loved the atmosphere, this look-alike barely seemed to register his surroundings. Only to lament the fate of the merrymakers blindly falling into ruin and sin.

Still, even Sam’s sad serious stares hadn’t been enough to dampen her spirits. Unlike her father and brother, she didn’t consider it sinful to enjoy life. Was it wrong to dance when there was music? Was that not what music was for? 

Whatever the case, she was sure her feet would be sore in the morning. She could only hope she hadn’t worn a hole in the sole of her shoe, they hadn't any money left to buy her new ones.

She’d been able to get Drake to join her, pleased to see him enjoy himself for a couple of hours. Demelza had noticed with a small degree of surprise how many of the young women looked at her youngest brother. She supposed it was only strange to her because she still thought of him as the four year old who fell out of apple trees with an impressive degree of regularity.

Drake himself didn’t seem to notice the attention.

Even _Sam_ hadn’t been able to stay completely separated from the action. Demelza had watched with genuine interest as a pretty young woman walked up to her brother. She didn’t hear the conversation, but she _had_ noticed her brother’s undivided attention on the girl for the rest of the night.

Now, with the party winding to a close, Demelza wandered the deck, shoes swinging from her hand as she sang softly to herself. “ _Whispered and tossed on the tide coming in, medhl oh medhl an gwyns_ -”

“That’s a pretty song.”

“Oh!”

She hadn’t noticed Ross Poldark lounging quietly on one of the benches, seemingly staring at the stars. She smiled as he sat up right. “Good evening, Mr Poldark.”

“Miss Carne. You’re in high spirits this evening.”

Demelza nodded, still smiling. “I suppose I am.” She sat next to him, keeping a respectful distance. She looked at him, wondering suddenly what he was doing sitting alone on a third class bench. “Are you, Sir?”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    
“Please, call me Ross. Am I what?”

“In high spirits?”

He seemed to consider it for a moment. “I am now,” he decided quietly.

“You weren’t before?” Ordinarily, Demelza wasn’t one to pry, but something, a feeling she didn’t quite recognise made her want to ask Ross. The thought of him being unhappy troubled her for some unknown reason. Perhaps it was nothing. Demelza hated to see anyone hurting. Often she was loathed even to kill the slugs that found their way onto her family’s vegetable patch.

“A small family matter was troubling me,” he admitted, not offering any further detail. Demelza decided it was best not to push.

“What were 'ee doing, before I interrupted with my warblin’?” She asked conversationally, shivering as a particularly cold breeze rolled in off the Atlantic.

Before she could say or do anything to stop him, Ross had shrugged his jacket off, gently draping it over her shoulders.

“Won’t you be cold?” She whispered, trying not to get distracted by the scent of him rolling off the jacket in waves.

He ignored the question. “Your warbling, as you so harshly put it, didn’t interrupt me. I was just looking at the stars.”

Demelza craned her neck upwards, looking at them. It was a particularly clear night. She spotted the North Star instantly, pointing it out to Ross.

Ross smiled as he looked where she was pointing. “I used to sit out in the garden with my mother and Claude, my brother, when I was a boy. She’d point all the stars out to us by name. We didn't do it so often after Claude died. I haven’t sat and looked at them since she died.”

“I’m sorry.” She turned away from the stars. She fought the urge to take his hand. “The North Star isn’t the brightest in the sky.”

He laughed as he met her eyes. “What is?”

“The Dog Star. I call it Garrick.”

He laughed again, his eyes crinkling. Demelza bristled, before realising he was laughing _with_ her rather than at her. It was a nice change. She laughed with him.

When she finally stopped she realised he was watching her intently. She felt herself blush, dropping her gaze to her hands, neatly folded in her lap. She froze when he took her hand in his, stunned as she lifted her eyes to meet his once more.

As he leaned forwards she licked her lips, barely realising she was doing so until she saw his eyes dart downwards at the movement.

She had never kissed anyone before. Only Hugh Armitage had even come close, and that was before she had realised that he was using his coming blindness to guilt her into giving him her affections. She’d ended their courtship swiftly afterwards. Jinny Martin had said it was good riddance too. No man of Hugh’s class could have been looking for anything serious with Demelza. She’d been sure he had wanted only one thing of Demelza.

Was that all Ross wanted from her?

The thought was sobering.

She pulled away, slipping her hand from his and removing his jacket. “Good night, Mr Poldark,” she managed to rush out before fleeing back to her cabin, her heart hammering in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind words and kudos on the previous two chapters! You're all lovely!


	4. Indulge

Morwenna stared at her breakfast, unseeing.

Ever since she had allowed Drake Carne to take her hand, and help her step onto the railing in order to better see the dolphins she had been feeling off balance. She’d been unable to get the memory of his rough hand holding hers to leave her thoughts. She had done her best to convince herself that the jolt the contact between them had caused was simply because his hand had been warm, and hers cold. Only, her hands were always cold, and she hadn’t felt a jolt when she’d accidentally brushed Dr Enys’s hand when he had joined their dinner party, handsome and pleasant though he was. 

She pushed her stew around with her spoon. Elizabeth had said something. With difficulty, she turned her attention to her cousin. “I’m sorry, I was daydreaming. Did you say something?”

Elizabeth’s delicate brow furrowed. “Are you quite well, Morwenna? You look a little pale.”

Absently, Morwenna nodded, then shook her head. “Perhaps I’m sickening for something,” she offered quietly, considering it. Maybe that was why she couldn’t stop recalling the feel of Drake’s calloused, yet surprisingly gentle hand holding hers. 

Elizabeth tilted her head sympathetically, covering Morwenna’s hand with her own. “Would you like to take a walk along the deck? The fresh air might do you some good. You needn’t take Geoffrey Charles along, Francis was planning to spend the day with him.”

“Will you join me, Cousin?”

With a smile, Elizabeth shook her head. “I thank you, but no. George Warleggan has requested I take lunch with him. Until then I thought I might join Verity and Andrew; they were going to take a look at the squash courts. You’d be more than welcome to join us.”

Morwenna shook her head, torn.

Elizabeth laughed as she took in Morwenna’s expression. “Truly, Cousin, I’ll be perfectly alright. Go ahead.” She took a sip of her tea.

With a murmured apology, Morwenna took her leave. Perhaps a walk around the deck  _ would _ do her some good. She’d said as much to Geoffrey Charles often enough; she was a great believer in the power of fresh air and exercise.

It was strange to walk along without her young charge chatting animatedly by her side. Already, a walk along the deck had become something of a tradition for them. Morwenna had begun to mentally split her days between walks with Geoffrey Charles, and simply filling the time in between them. 

Not that she minded, of course. Morwenna was acutely aware of her good fortune. Many young women, including her three sisters, would have given their right arm for the position she currently occupied, and Morwenna was determined not to take the opportunity for granted. Not even when she was feeling homesick, or conflicted by her simmering feelings for a handsome, but entirely inappropriate young man from third class.

She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. She loved the smell of the ocean. 

Elizabeth had been right. A few moments outside, and she was already feeling more herself again. 

“Miss Morwenna!”

She froze, torn between pretending she hadn’t heard him, and wanting to spend as much time enjoying the day dream as possible; she wasn’t a fool. She knew it was impossible. No good could come of forming any attachment to such an unsuitable young man. Even so, she couldn’t help herself. The journey would be over soon enough, and after that she would never see Drake Carne again. Where was the harm in indulging this feeling while she could?

With a steadying breath, she turned, feeling a blush creep onto her face as she met his dark, playful eyes. “Mr Carne.”

He grinned as he caught up to her. “How are ‘ee, Miss Morwenna?”

Morwenna shivered, blushing as she realised Drake had noticed the involuntary movement. “ _ Cold _ .”

Drake seemed to consider this for a moment, looking at his threadbare jacket with a frown. For a terrifying, exciting moment, Morwenna thought he was considering offering it to her. A thrill ran through her at the idea.

Quickly, however, he decided against it, shaking his head with poorly concealed frustration. “I’ve nothing to offer ‘ee,” he said quietly, looking down at his feet.

Morwenna smiled, trying to ignore the double meaning his words could have. Before she could offer any words to ease his misplaced guilt, he brightened, an idea seeming to occur to him.

“Will ‘ee walk with me?”

Immediately, her instinct was to refuse him, and return to Elizabeth. Overwhelming her natural instinct was the little voice in her head telling her to indulge this feeling. 

As if in a trance, she nodded.

 

**xXx**

 

Caroline was thoughtful as she wandered along the second class deck. She’d seldom been one to apologise. She had once overheard her uncles saying it was one of her worst shortcomings, and they seldom complained about any of her traits. Even she had to admit they were often both too lenient with her.

It wasn’t that she had anything against admitting that she was wrong, it was simply that she seldom felt her behaviour warranted an apology. It was only a week before she had boarded the ship that she had argued with Unwin. Despite his temper tantrum, and Ray’s red faced demands that she _‘behave like a lady’_ , she had been unmoved. No one had expected Unwin to apologise for behaving like a spoilt child, why should she apologise for not feeling ready to set a date for their upcoming marriage?

_This_ was different. 

Since the meal had ended the previous evening, she had been unable to think of anything but the expression on Dwight Enys’s face as he left the table.

Of course, she had intended to provoke him, that was her way. She could rarely help herself. It was the only way she knew how to be around men. It was the only weapon she could use when dealing with the likes of Unwin Trevaunance. Perhaps this time she’d gone too far. Dwight Enys wasn’t like Unwin, after all. 

She caught sight of a familiar head of sandy hair. He was crouched down, talking to a scruffy looking little boy whose mother was smiling doe eyed at the handsome doctor. For some unknown reason, Caroline felt herself bristle.

Her reaction startled her. She mentally shook herself, plastering her sunniest smile on her face.

“Dr Enys, just the man I was hoping to find!”

He half turned, his expression falling as he took her in. She’d definitely gone too far if that was the reaction her presence now warranted.

His attempt at a polite smile more closely resembled a grimace. “You’ll excuse me, Miss Penvenen. I have much to do.”

The words were civil and courteous, but the tone was icy. Had Caroline been a different kind of woman, she might have flinched at it. Instead, she squared her shoulders, determined not to be put off. “Actually, Doctor Enys, if you’d give me a moment, I came to apologise.”

She grinned as he stopped short, he couldn’t school expression quickly enough to disguise the plain surprise written all over his face. He stared at her for a few moments, utterly disbelieving, seeming to wait for a punchline. 

“There,” Caroline said triumphantly. “You weren’t expecting _ that _ !”

She caught up to him in a few short strides; Uncle Ray was often complaining about how long her legs were. Sometimes, she wondered which of her parents she had inherited that particular trait from. “May I accompany you?”

“You may, though I don’t believe I’m particularly good company this morning.”

She shook her head. “I find you uncommonly diverting, Dr Enys.” She was pleased to notice him blush. He was always so quick to blush. Caroline found it disconcertingly endearing. 

They walked along in awkward silence for a few minutes. Finally, she could take it no more. “It is good of you to give any measure of your time, precious as it is, to one you so clearly despise.”

“ _ Despise _ ?” He blinked, turning to her. “Miss Penvenen, I do not despise you.” 

“You don’t? Then why is it you haven’t one civil word for me?”

Dwight sighed. “Miss Penvenen, perhaps I am old fashioned but it is my belief that civility should be shown on both sides.”

“Ah, so this  _ is  _ still about last night. You do not like to be laughed at, Dr Enys?”

She watched as he seemed to search for the right words for a moment before sighing once more. “No, I’m afraid I do not.”

“Well then, how about this; I’m sorry. For last night. Might we be friends now, Dr Enys?”

He smiled, genuinely, this time. “Friends, Miss Penvenen.”

“If we are to be friends, I think you should call me Caroline, don’t you,  _ Dwight? _ ”

 

**xXx**

 

Demelza smiled to herself as she watched Sam stare rather too apparently at the young woman she had watched him speaking to the night before.

Ostensibly oblivious to his pining, the young woman was talking animatedly to an attractive young man who seemed to be enjoying her attention as she lounged beside him. Demelza heard a gentle sigh from next to her. 

It was Rosina Hoblyn, a young woman she had met on the first night of the voyage. Demelza had taken an instant liking to her. She was sweet, and kindly, the sort of woman Demelza had always hoped would catch the eye of one of her brothers. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Luke’s wife, or had anything against her, and she made her brother happy, which was all Demelza could ask for. She just wished they had more in common. Their conversations had a horrible tendency to be awkward, and stilted. 

Rosina was watching Sam as he watched the girl, her expression sad, but resigned. Strange; Demelza had been convinced she had something of a taking for  _ Drake _ . The two of them had danced together for hours the night before.

Perhaps it was a good thing Demelza had no ambitions of becoming a matchmaker. It seemed the results would be mixed at best.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t surprising that she hadn’t picked up on Rosina’s pining faster. She hadn’t been good at acknowledging her own emotions recently. Demelza had spent the entire night tossing and turning - eventually her father had grown irate, warning her that she was going to wake the baby. He'd almost reminded her of his old self.

She’d barely slept a wink, her thoughts too consumed by Ross Poldark, and the weight of his dinner jacket around her shoulders. The way he’d stared at her lips before he moved closer.

Had she been wrong to run from him? 

It was definitely possible that she had misread his intentions. She wasn’t exactly experienced in the ways of men, and what little experience she did have wasn’t necessarily true of everyone. It had taken her a long time to get over the disappointment Hugh Armitage had caused. Had she allowed the lingering hurt from that to take over?

And if Ross really _had_ been about to kiss her, how would she have felt?

He was handsome, and thoughtful, and kind. He had listened to her, and spoken to her as an _equal;_ even though they were anything but. The idea that a man such as him could want her was overwhelming.

Her father would call her sinful. Lust filled. 

Demelza shook her head. She wasn’t sure she thought much of her father’s views on sin. Wasn’t life supposed to be _enjoyed_? To be  _ lived _ .

“Rosina?”

It appeared to be with great effort that her friend turned her attention away from Sam. Demelza felt a wave of empathy flood her. Matters of the heart could be cruel. “Yes, Demelza?”

Demelza shook her head. “Oh, never mind!” She batted away her bouncing curls with irritation. What did it matter? After her behaviour last night, she doubted Ross Poldark would ever so much as look at her ever again. 

“Say, who’s that with Drake?”

Brow furrowed, Demelza followed Rosina’s gaze. “ _ Judas _ ,” she whispered, as she spotted her brother descending the stairs with a young woman. She glanced at Rosina whose expression mirrored her own. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

Drake’s companion stood out like a sore thumb. Her clothes immediately marked her out as someone who didn’t belong in third class. Her blue dress was far too fine. It was the sort of gown Demelza could only dream of wearing. If the girl’s dress hadn’t been enough to mark her as an outsider, the nervous expression on her face was all the confirmation Demelza needed. What had Drake gotten himself into this time?

The smile on her brother’s face was bright as he bounded towards them on his long legs, though it grew almost sheepish as he met Demelza’s eyes.

“Who’s this?” Demelza fought to keep her voice light and airy, ignoring the eyes on them. Folk did dearly love a gossip.

“Demelza, this is Morwenna Chynoweth.” The girl inclined her head politely. “Miss Morwenna, this is my sister, Demelza Carne, and her friend, Rosina Hoblyn.”

The girl, Morwenna, smiled nervously. “How do you do?”

One look at Drake’s face as he watched Morwenna was enough to confirm Demelza’s worst fears. She caught Sam’s eye from across the room. This was not good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one's essentially a bit of a filler chapter. I had wanted it up on my birthday (last Tuesday), but writer's block has been kicking my butt. Hard.   
> And, this week's been a tough one already.   
> Thank you for all the support on the previous chapters, it means so much to me!


	5. Friendly Hypocrites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I updated. I had the worst case of writer's block I've had in a long while! This is just a quick filler chapter to get me back into writing this fic.

Drake Carne stood on one side of the gates that divided the ship into classes.  _ His _ side. Morwenna stood the other, her hand clasped gently in one of Drake’s over the barrier that separated them.

“Well?”

She pushed her glasses up her nose from where they had slipped with her free hand, trying, and failing, not to think of the feel of Drake's rough, calloused palms against her own soft skin. “Hmm?”

“What did ‘ee think? Of brother Sam, and sister?” Drake’s dark eyes were bright with the excitement Morwenna could all but feel rolling off him in waves. 

“I liked them very much.”

And she _had_. Demelza, by far the more personable of the two, had greeted her with far more warmth than Morwenna felt she was owed. There was an easy openness to her that Morwenna had liked immensely. 

Sam Carne had been slightly more difficult to read. It was clear that he was concerned by her acquaintance with his brother; a concern Morwenna knew Demelza had to share, and he had been somewhat standoffish towards her. Not rude, but distant. Wary. Even so, he seemed like a good man, certainly one who cared deeply for his family. Morwenna couldn't help but admire that.

Drake rewarded her answer with one of his brilliant smiles. It was something Morwenna had learned he shared with his siblings. They all had that same wonderful, disarming, smile. It was also very infectious, and she had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself mirroring his expression. 

Instead, Morwenna shook her head, trying to gently slip her hand from Drake’s without causing offence. “I should be going.”

“Miss Morwenna.” His hold was still gentle, but firm and unyielding as his lifted her hand towards his lips.

“Don’t, Drake,” she breathed as she realised his intentions too late to stop him softly pressing his chapped lips to the back of her hand. 

She could feel her breath catch in her throat as he turned her hand upwards, kissing her palm and each of her finger tips in turn. “Don’t, Drake.”

Finally, mercifully, he released her hand, which fell to her side uselessly. 

“Morwenna,” he whispered as his eyes met hers once more. 

With a gasp, Morwenna retreated hurriedly, not stopping until she had reached the sanctuary of her cabin. She knew, instinctively, that something had changed between them in that moment. That she had  _ allowed _ something to change between them. That she had been mere moments away from leaning forward and capturing his lips with her own. It was an altogether upsetting, and uncomfortably exciting, thought.

She had hoped for a moment to herself, to get the erratic thumping of her heart back to normal, to catch her breath.  She would be afforded no luxury. Instead, she had barely gotten through the door before Elizabeth appeared opposite her, smiling brightly. 

“I’ve laid out a new gown for you.”

Morwenna felt her brow crease. A _new_ gown? Elizabeth and her husband were rarely so generous with their money. They had only recently overcome serious financial difficulties. “Cousin?”

“We are to dine with Mr Warleggan, and his friends;  Lady Whitworth, and her son.”

**x-X-x**

Demelza wandered the decks, determinedly trying not to think of the flushed excitement on Drake’s face when he had returned after seeing Morwenna back to first class, or the look that had replaced it when she and Sam had sat him down to talk of the girl in question. 

The flushed, earnest, breathless excitement of first love that Demelza herself knew all too well, had quickly abated in the face of Sam’s measured lecture on the dangers of the sin of carnal lust. 

Demelza herself didn’t particularly agree with the majority of the content of Sam’s apparently well rehearsed speech - a small part of Demelza wondered absently if he had, in fact, been planning on using it on _her_ rather than their impressionable little brother - and she certainly didn’t agree with his methods. Watching the giddy happiness drain from Drake had been almost physically painful, but, for the first time in as long as Demelza could remember, it seemed that she and Sam were of like minds.

The truth of the matter was that Demelza had genuinely liked Morwenna. She seemed gentle, kindly; the sort of girl she had always dreamed would catch Drake’s eye, and love him the way her sweet- natured brother deserved.

If only she hadn’t been so impossibly high above Drake’s station.

Drake was a determined, dedicated hard worker, and one with no small skill in his trade. He had begun, by some small miracle, to make a goodly living for himself as a blacksmith, but there was no possible way he could ever truly aspire to Morwenna’s hand. Not really. 

Her own experiences had taught Demelza that the wealthy liked to think of themselves as progressive thinkers, modern in their views and sensibilities, but she knew such a marriage would cause uproar and no small scandal. It was the sort of happy ending people like Drake only got in fairy tales.

Demelza breathed in the cool sea breeze with a heavy sigh. She’d said her piece. There was little more for her to do now than to hope that Drake either took the words to heart, or, perhaps the more likely scenario; hope that the attachment was some passing fancy that would be meaningless when they docked in New York and gained some distance. Hopefully someone else would soon take his fancy once they were settled in America.

Truth be told, Demelza had been trying to convince herself the same would be true of her budding attraction to Ross Poldark. 

She had felt like the world’s worst hypocrite during her speech to Drake. There she sat, telling Drake to forget Morwenna, that any attachment would be impossible and just bring them both pain, when her thoughts continued to be consumed by the  _ almost _ moment she had shared with Ross that night beneath the stars.

If Morwenna was far above Drake’s station, Ross stood head and shoulders above Demelza. As out of reach as the stars they had watched together.

**x-X-x**

Since their agreement to attempt a friendship, Caroline had found herself rather enjoying Dwight’s company. Of course, his quaint country doctor ways still caused some friction, but things had been progressing even better than Caroline could have hoped when she had proposed they give friendship a try. 

Even so, their relationship had not become harmonious overnight. 

At that very moment, in fact, Caroline felt herself bristling under his judgemental stare. They had been walking along the promenade for a fair time now, and the attention was beginning to grow somewhat unnerving. It was making her feel somewhat irritable.

She huffed, shifting Horace’s considerable weight in her arms. Truth be told, Horace’s presence was the cause for Caroline’s sour mood. When she had gone to collect him from the ship’s kennels, she’d been told he had been having fits. When she had requested Dwight attend on her beloved companion he had argued that he was not a farrier, and could not be expected to tend to a dog. Caroline thought he was being utterly absurd over an insignificant formality.

They had been walking in silence since. 

Now he was staring at the poor mite with what appeared to Caroline to be no small amount of distaste. “You’ve been staring at Horace for several minutes now, Dr Enys. Is there something you’d like to share?”

He blinked, meeting her eyes with a shake of his head. “Nothing at all, Miss Penvenen.”

“You don’t have a nothing face, Dr Enys. That is a  _ something _ face.” She raised an eyebrow. “If you have something to say, please don’t let me stop you.”

Dwight sighed resignedly, looking from Horace to Caroline in turn. “You said Horace has been having fits?”

Caroline felt her heart rate increase. Did Dwight have a diagnosis? “Yes, but I thought you refused to treat dogs as a matter of formality.”

Her companion rolled his eyes good-naturedly, guiding Caroline to sit on a bench. “How old is he?”

The question stumped her for a moment. Sometimes, she couldn’t remember a time before she’d had Horace in her life. She smoothed her gown out over her knees, admiring the patterning as she considered her answer. “Twelve months. Is that significant?”

Dwight frowned. “Perhaps. Fits are not uncommon at that age.”

Caroline let out a breath. “So he’s going to be alright?” She could barely keep the relief from saturating every word. 

If it had been anything serious she would've had only herself to blame. The excitement and commotion of the ship must have been too much for him. She should never have brought him along. It was selfish of her.

Caroline blushed as she noticed Dwight’s features soften as he absently stroked Horace’s soft head. She had apparently not done a very good job of disguising the extent of her emotions. 

“I see every reason to be hopeful, only-”

“Only  _ what _ ?”

Dwight ran his hands over the little pug’s sandy fur, feeling around his ribcage. “Horace is of a substantial weight, Caroline. He should be running, and jumping. Or at least walking alongside you on a lead. Dogs do not need to be carried.”

Caroline clicked her tongue in exaggerated disdain, eager to regain the upper hand. “Do you hear that, Horace? Doctor Enys says you are to walk by my side like a common mongrel.”

Horace grunted happily as Dwight scratched at a spot behind his ear. Treacherous little beast.

**x-X-x**


	6. The Curse of the Poldarks

“The curse of the Poldarks.”

With a start, Ross realised he had been staring rather too openly at Elizabeth who sat across the table from him. He looked at his cousin who was watching him sadly with her kind, dark eyes.

“What’s that?”

Verity sighed. “Once given our hearts are not easily withdrawn.” She glanced at Andrew; their long, difficult courtship was certainly proof of that.

Ross, however, had not been thinking of Elizabeth. Granted, she looked beautiful as ever. Dark hair perfectly styled, dress the colour of the violets that grew in the grounds of Trenwith. He wondered if he would ever be able to look at her without recalling the way he felt when he’d heard of her engagement to Francis.

He shook his head. Verity had misunderstood. He hadn’t been aware enough of his surroundings to even realise he’d been watching Elizabeth. His thoughts had been consumed by a very different young woman. The two were as opposite as night and day. 

Every time he closed his eyes he remembered the way Demelza had licked her lips as he moved towards her. He’d been so sure she wanted him to kiss her. 

_ He  _ had wanted to kiss  _ her _ . More than he had wanted anything in a long time. Before that night he thought he had put that side of him in the past. Since Elizabeth, there hadn’t been anyone else. No one that counted at least. Ross had accepted that he would, most likely, end his days a bachelor. The thought hadn’t concerned him in the least.

It had all been worked out, after all. Nampara would go to Verity, as his father had once suggested, after one too many bottles of brandy, and yet another argument with Ross's uncle Charles. After her, it would probably go to Geoffrey Charles; it seemed unlikely now that Verity would ever be a mother. It wasn't something the two of them had ever discussed, but Ross knew his cousin well enough to know the cause for the pained expression that cast a shadow across her face whenever someone mentioned children or pregnancies in front of her. He didn't know when they had given up on trying, but it had been a long time since either Verity or Andrew had mentioned having a child in front of him.

Now, however, Ross _wanted_ to imagine a life with someone by his side. Someone with fiery red hair, bright, intelligent eyes, and a thick Cornish accent. He could almost see it; the two of them sitting by the fire in Nampara, a handful of children at their feet. 

Only, Demelza didn’t want  _ him _ . She’d fled from him so quickly he’d barely registered what was happening until she was gone. 

But the way she had looked at him while they were talking. 

_ “Ross!” _

He blinked, turning back to Verity. “Yes?”

“I’ve been asking you to pass the milk for almost five minutes. Where did you go?”

 

**x-X-x**

 

What Elizabeth had assured Morwenna would be a quick lunch with Sir George and his friends had been stretching on for what seemed like an age. 

Perhaps friends was was too strong a word for the relationship. From the way Sir George was eyeing the big young man and his mother, it seemed to Morwenna that he barely tolerated his companions, let alone liked them. From what Morwenna had seen during the voyage, it seemed to her that Mr Warleggan didn’t have friends so much as commodities. The only exception to that rule appeared to be Elizabeth; and the way he looked at her could hardly be described as friendly.

Morwenna returned her attention to the others gathered around the table.

The Reverend Osborne Whitworth was a very big man. 

That had been Morwenna’s uncharitable initial impression upon first being introduced. The past two hours had done little to give her a more rounded picture of him. 

It wasn’t just his physical size, though rotund was probably a generous description. His entire  _ being _ was big. Overpowering was the best way Morwenna could think of to describe him.

He immediately latched on to anything his dining companions said, filling the conversation with anecdotes about himself in his big, booming voice. Anecdotes largely relating to his success with cards and his popularity with women. Occasionally both. Throughout the conversation, he continued to pile food into his mouth, barely finishing one mouthful before shovelling in more food. 

The only time he ever paused was when his mother began to speak. He’d immediately stop, even mid sentence, turning his devoted attention to her with a simpering  _ ‘ah, yes, Mama!’   _

“Miss Chynoweth!”

Morwenna blinked, forcing herself to smile as she turned towards him. “Yes, Reverend Whitworth?”

“Oh, no, my _dear_. Please, call me  _ Ossie _ .”

 Morwenna fought the urge to cringe at his simpering voice, forcing herself not to shudder as he took her hand. Pressing his fleshy lips to her knuckles.

Try as she might, she couldn’t help but compare them to another set of lips. 

She forced a smile as Osborne released her hand, daring to shoot a desperate look in Elizabeth’s direction. It was only when she saw the look in her cousin’s eye that she finally comprehended the looks she had seen the other woman and Sir George exchange as they had watched her interactions with the strange young man. 

Only, it couldn’t be possible. There was no way what she was thinking could be true.

 

**x-X-x**

 

Emma Tregirls took very little in life seriously. 

It had been the only way to endure her childhood. Yes, her father’s abandonment of the family had probably given her a jaded view of the world, and in particular her views on love, but she had refused to let it take away her ability to enjoy herself.

At that moment, she was enjoying herself a great deal. 

She lounged on the bench, pretending not to notice Sam Carne’s green eyes watching her like a hawk. Ostensibly, he was reading the Bible that she had yet to see him without, but Emma had felt his eyes on her for several hours now. Not that she minded; what girl didn’t like some attention from a handsome young man. Especially one she knew could be counted on to keep his hands to himself. Such a person was a rarity where she was from, and it made Sam Carne all the more intriguing.

She raised her cup to her lips once more, narrowing her eyes as Sam looked up from his Bible once more. Emma grinned as she watched the blush spread across his cheeks once he realised he had been caught.

“Parson Carne! Have ‘ee been watching me all this time?” She leaned forward, very aware that it drew attention to her chest. 

She knew the moment Sam noticed, his blush deepened until he was near enough the colour of a tomato, shaking his head and turning his attention to his Bible with a determination that hadn’t been there before. Emma watched his lips mouthing the passage for a moment before standing and making her way over to sit opposite him.

“Watching me all this time, and ‘ee won’t join me for a drink?” She clicked her tongue, as she plopped onto the bench that sat across from his. 

As before, he tucked his index finger between the pages he had been reading. “The Lord hath forbid it.”

Emma scrunched her face, disappointed but unsurprised by his answer, and it didn’t answer her other question. “What do ‘ee hope to gain from stalking me?” Her hands moved to rest on her hips. “Every time I come here, there you are. Watching me. What do ‘ee  _ want _ , Sam?”

He straightened, expression growing sincere as he pulled his Bible closer to his chest. “A soul for God.”

If he hadn’t sounded so genuine, Emma would’ve rolled her eyes. He was so  _ good,  _ and yet she had seen the way he looked at her. If there was an expression Emma Tregirls knew well, it was lust. “And naught for thyself?” She scoffed. She didn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it. She knew men too well for that. They all wanted something for themselves. All of them.

Emma moved to rest her arms on the wooden table that separated them. “Walk with me? And mind ‘ee don’t lay hands on me on the deck.”

He swallowed painfully. “I would never!”

She grinned as she saw his eyes dart from her lips to her chest momentarily, before lifting to meet her eyes. “For the Lord forbid it.” Emma jumped to her feet, moving around the table, and offering her hand to a bewildered Sam who took it after a moment’s hesitation. “What a killjoy He be!”

She resisted the urge to pull him closer to her, having had her fun. Instead she laughed at Sam, nudging him gentle with her shoulder. “C’mon!”

**x-X-x**


End file.
